Chapter 22
Aron
One good thing about being Matt’s official guard: I get to stay close when the doctors are stitching him up.
He took a lot in that fight with Grady. Deep lacerations, bruises, even a broken nose. Then there’s the concussion. He insists he’s fine to deal with Syndicate operations, but I’m not so sure about that.
The problem is, Matt has yet to name a successor, or even a second in command. Tito always had Matt, but who does Matt have?
The easy answer is me, but he can’t name his guard as the next don. That might be what set my dad off, come to think of it, but I honestly don’t want that responsibility. I’d rather stay in the background, always by Matt’s side but never in his chair.
Finally, after an hour of stitching and bandaging and tests—faster than any hospital—our doctors declare Matt fit for duty, on one condition: He has to rest tonight.
Matt does not do rest well.
After the fifth time I catch him sneaking out of the bedroom, I pop a stimulant pill to keep from falling asleep and losing track of him. For whatever reason, Matt seems to think that the Syndicate can’t function without him overnight.
“Matt, please, just stay in bed for one freaking night.”
He tries to push past my arm across the door, but it’s no use. I’m not letting him out.
“I just want to check the numbers from the twins’ endeavors. Won’t take but a second. Then I’ll go back to bed.”
“The twins haven’t even been at it for twenty-four hours. Go to bed.”
“But—”
Taking him by the shoulders, I bodily turn him around to face the bed. “No buts except for yours in the damned bed.”
Matt sighs heavily and rolls his eyes, but he finally ambles back to bed. His gait is uneven, he wavers on his feet, and there’s a slight limp I hadn’t noticed before … all good reasons to make him behave. If someone sees him like this, they might consider him an easy target for a takeover.
While he climbs under the covers, I take a relaxed and ready stance by the door. It’s going to be a long night, so I might as well be somewhat comfortable while I stand watch.
“Why won’t you come to bed?” Matt asks.
“Because you’ll try to distract me.”
“If you’re in bed with me, you’re guaranteed to know that I’m safe.”
I glance over and see that Matt has kicked off the covers. He’s reclining against a pillow, cock in hand, stroking himself while he watches me.
“That doesn’t count as resting. The doctors were all in agreement; you need rest more than anything. If I keep you up all night having sex, you won’t get any rest.”
“I’ll let you top again.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. He’s insufferable sometimes. “No, Matt. We can fuck all you want in the morning, but the doctors specifically said that tonight you need rest.”
Matt pouts and stuffs his cock back into his pajamas, then rolls over with his back to the door. “Fine. But don’t say I didn’t offer.”
“I won’t.”
The first half of the night passes uneventfully once Matt finally dozes off, but around two thirty he jerks awake with a gasp, his body drenched in sweat.
Matt isn’t the type who’s prone to nightmares. He’s seen worse things in his life than his subconscious could possibly fabricate, so even his most terrible dreams have little effect. I wonder if this is a product of the concussion.
“You okay, Matt?”
He runs a shaky hand through his hair. “Fuck. What happened?”
I take a few steps away from the door. “You tell me. Bad dream?”
“I'm not sure.” He turns and lets his legs dangle off the side of the bed. “I don’t really remember. Something just feels wrong. I can’t explain it.”
“Is it your head? How does it feel? Are you still seeing double?”
Matt shakes his head. “No, it’s not that.” He sighs and stands up, stretching. “Well, whatever it was, it’s gone now.”
“So why are you getting out of bed?”
He smirks and points across the room. “Because the bathroom is that way.”
Jesus, I'm strung too tight. “Right. Bathroom. Need a hand in there?”
“I think I can manage.”
I’ll take Matt’s normal playful sarcasm after the terror of watching that fight last night. Even worse than seeing Matt take those devastating hits of Grady’s was the knowledge that I couldn’t do a damn thing to help him, couldn’t even let my reaction show.
I couldn’t help him, that is, until the terms of the fight were met.
Suddenly, Matt’s hand appears in front of me as he snaps his fingers in my face.
“What the fuck, Matt?”
“You were a million miles away just now.” He cups my cheek with his hand. “Are you okay? I'm not the only one that got beaten up yesterday, though you did it to yourself.”
I lean into Matt’s touch with a sigh, covering his hand with my own. “I’m fine … physically. I’d prefer it if you didn’t try that method of power play again, though. I don’t think I could handle it.”
Matt takes my hand in his and inspects my injuries, tracing the cuts gently with a fingertip. “This could have been more serious if I hadn’t shown up when I did.”
“I was mostly done by then,” I say dismissively.
His lips brush my torn knuckles. “Don’t do this again, Aron. Please.”
I wrap my arms around his neck and breathe in his subtle musky scent. “Tell you what: We’ll both agree that last night’s activities were a one-off. No more for either of us.”
“I can’t promise that I won’t get in a fight again.”
“No, but you can promise that it won’t be your idea.” I lean back just enough to gaze into his sapphire eyes. “Promise me, Matt. No more organized death matches.”
He pauses so long that I think he might balk at the agreement, but finally a soft smile spreads his lips, and he hugs me tight.
“No organized death matches. Promise.”
The kiss is explosive. Matt’s lips crush mine like he’s trying to meld with me, to become one.
Our hands drift and explore, and it isn’t long before I feel Matt’s hard cock pressing into my hip.
I grip his waist and pull him even closer until our bodies are flush.
Matt moans and grinds into me while I slide my hands down to squeeze his tight ass.
“Please tell me this counts as morning,” Matt murmurs against my lips. “I don’t think I can wait until the sun comes up.”
“How’s your head?”
“It’s fucking fine. My dick, on the other hand, could use some TLC.”
I cup his bulge with my hand and start to slide my fingers up and down his shaft.
Matt shudders and moans, and before I can do it for him, he’s pulled his pants down.
I kneel at his feet and gaze up at him as I stroke his cock.
Matt threads his fingers through my hair, gripping a handful and tugging.
“C’mon, baby. Suck it dry.”
Rather than diving right in, I start off slow.
Long, languid licks up, soft suction at the tip, then licking back down.
Tug the balls, massage them, pay them just as much attention as his cock.
I know Matt, know what he likes from watching him with other men, so despite his being the only cock I’ve ever sucked, I’m able to give him exactly what he craves.
Matt trembles while I work, and each time I suck his tip into my mouth, his body jerks.
“Fuck, Aron, how did you get to be such a fucking pro at this?” he asks as I run my tongue around the soft edge of his head.
I pull back just long enough to say, “I pay attention,” before getting back to work.
By the time I finally take him fully into my mouth, Matt’s shaking all over. He moans and pants, sucking in sharp breaths every time I hit a sweet spot—which is quite often.
The first time I sucked Matt off, I had a little trouble with the length. It takes some practice to suppress the gag reflex, as I’ve found, though I’m apparently a quick study. Now I’ve learned how to relax my throat and breathe through my nose while swallowing him down.
Inch by inch, I suck him deeper and deeper into my throat. Once I’ve reached the base, he starts to gently thrust into me. We work out a smooth rhythm of swallows and thrusts, completely in sync.
I wait for the perfect moment—the point of no return, where Matt’s muscles shudder and clench—before trying something new.
In addition to the suction and tongue action and the gentle squeeze of his balls, I slide two fingers, slick from rubbing my saliva over his cock, in Matt’s ass.
He gasps, and when I curl them slightly, he loses all control.
He grunts softly as he empties his balls down my throat, filling me beyond overflowing.
Cum slides down my chin to drip onto my chest, ruining a perfectly good shirt. Sloppy as fuck, but oh, so worth it.
Matt releases his hold on my hair and strokes my cheek.
“That was amazing, baby. Do you want me to finish you off?”
I chuckle as I rise to my feet. “Too late,” I say, pointing to the damp stain on my crotch. Getting Matt off was so enjoyable that I came in my pants, completely hands-free.
“Fuck, that's hot.” He pulls me close for a kiss despite the mess he made of my mouth, guiding me to the bed as we make out. Once there, we strip out of our remaining clothes and crawl under the covers. At this point, we're both limp and spent. Matt wraps me in the blankets and holds me close.
“I think I'll keep you,” he says with a grin.
“Good luck getting rid of me. I'm here to stay, Don Matteo. No force on Heaven or Earth could drag me from your side.”